


You Can't Stay

by Hopeless



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Best Friends, Gen, Goodbyes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 09:05:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopeless/pseuds/Hopeless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You can’t stay.”<br/>…<br/>…<br/>Hanging in the moment for seconds that seemed like hours, Castiel is the first to look away. Eyes darting down toward the table, a noticeable gulp making its way down but gets locked up somewhere in the pit of his throat. He tenses, eyes becoming glassy and it’s suddenly harder to breathe. He puts down his burrito realizing he has lost his appetite, the hunger that seemed never-ending since becoming human suddenly disappearing. </p>
<p>He starts, “I-I’m sorr-” maybe he did something wrong, or maybe, “I am sorry I misunderstood.”</p>
<p>My imagination running wild after watching 9x03 and what I dreamt would happen, sorry my ending is as disappointing as theirs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can't Stay

“You can’t stay.”

 

…

…

 

Hanging in the moment for seconds that seemed like hours, Castiel is the first to look away. Eyes darting down toward the table, a noticeable gulp making its way down but gets locked up somewhere in the pit of his throat. He tenses, eyes becoming glassy and it’s suddenly harder to breathe. He puts down his burrito realizing he has lost his appetite, the hunger that seemed never-ending since becoming human suddenly disappearing.

  
He starts, “I-I’m sorr-” maybe he did something wrong, or maybe, “I am sorry I misunderstood.”

 

Dean jerks forward. To do what, he doesn’t know, to say _You have nothing to be sorry about, at least not this time_. But Castiel continues.

 

“I am sorry I misunderstood. I thought that when you said to ‘Go hom-“, he chokes on that word. He _has no home_. His voice as steady as he can make it but knows he’s failing spectacularly, “I realize now you meant _your_ home, for _your_ fam-family.” The quiver at that word, too, shakes him to the core, a cold rush falling over him.

 

Dean wants to scream _YOU are my family! Idgit!_ But it won’t come out. His own voice locked in his throat, his chest, somewhere where his heart is supposed to be. 

 

“I will take my leave now. If I could-” he cuts himself off again. _I should not burden them any more with my needs_ runs through his mind despite how beneficial some toiletries, food, and fresh underwear would be. “I should go, it will be dark soon enough and it is a long way out of the woods. I need to find somewhere to stay the night.”

 

He suddenly turns _Angel-of-the-Lord_ mode, stoic and rigid but some how graceful. Complete opposite to what he was not five minutes ago, completely and utterly human, Dean’s best friend, and he did that to him.

 

The change upsets Dean more than he could ever describe. This time when he jerks forward he actually does something, it’s the wrong something though.

 

He reaches his hand to put on Castiel’s shoulder as Castiel lifts himself off the chair, which seems to be a very difficult task. Like his weight is suddenly too much to bear and Dean knows all about that. But Castiel flinches, so lightening quick that even Dean jerks back as if his hand was on fire. Castiel, having shoved the seat back in his haste is now scrambling to get up and out of there, the bunker, the Bat Cave, the _home_ that was never his, as quickly as he can. 

 

Still not meeting Dean’s eyes, he scrambles for something, anything; he _has_ _nothing_.

 

With a speed he wished he still possessed and determination to run from this feeling of utter confusion and heartbreak, he goes straight to the bunker entrance.

 

Dean, for all he’s worth, finally gets with the program and goes after him.

 

“Cas…Buddy…wait.”

 

Castiel pauses but for a moment, eyes still cast down, hands clenching and unclenching in fists as if try to find purchase again, in something, anything to ground him.

 

“Good bye, Dean.”


End file.
